Hotline Loud
by SomethinaboutMarco
Summary: Lincoln turned towards the man in the Rooster mask, desperately trying to piece together the past three months of his life. Phone calls... thats how it started... and then his entire world came crashing down. The masked man simply returned his gaze, a chuckle escaping his chest. "I have one question for you, Loud." He spoke, "Do you like hurting other people?"
1. Part One: Phone Calls

_Beep Beep_

The sound of the answering machine echoed throughout the tiny apartment, signaling to its inhabitants that they had missed a call.

 _Beep Beep_

Behind the closed bathroom door stood a tall, white haired individual, staring at his reflection in the grimy, smudged mirror.

 _Beep Beep_

He released his grip on the filthy sink, turning away from his reflection and moving towards the door, gripping the handle and stepping into the living room.

"And who do we have here?"

Sitting around the room were three distinct individuals; a woman in a dress, wearing a horse mask, a man in a white suit, wearing an owl mask, and another man in a letterman jacket, wearing a rooster mask.

The white-haired man remained silent.

"Oh…" the women continued, " You don't know who you are? Well, maybe we should keep it that way."

"But I know you." the man in the rooster mask began, "Look at my face. We've met before…haven't we?"

Silence continued to reign, broken by the man in the owl mask.

"I don't know you!" He lashed out. " Why are you here? You're no guest of mine!"

"Do you really want me to reveal who you are?" The women spoke up, querying the stoic figure. "Knowing oneself means acknowledging ones actions, and as of late, you've done some pretty terrible things."

The white-haired man just stared, gaze shifting from the eyes of one mask to the other.

"You don't remember me?" Questioned the man in the rooster mask. "I'll give you a clue… Does April the 3rd mean anything to you? I believe that was the day of our first encounter. You look like you might be remembering something."

The white-haired man's eyes widened, mind racing to recollect that fateful spring day…

. . . . .

 **April 3** **rd** **, 2028; 16:00 PM**

When one first appraised Lincoln Loud, they saw a tall, well-built young man in his early twenties, testing the waters of adulthood while simultaneously trying to find his way in life.

Of course, that was at first glance.

If one looked closer, however, they would notice the darkened bags under his eyes, the way his gaze constantly shifted, how he pulled the collar of his jacket just a little higher up to cover his neck, and how worn his hands were.

Most who interacted with the lad found him to be a polite, charming fellow, content to watch and listen rather than draw attention to himself.

Under the surface, however, a storm raged.

The death of Lynn Loud Sr. six years prior sent shockwaves through the family, seventeen year old Lincoln barely transitioning into his Senior year of high school. His death came quietly, swiftly, and caught everyone off guard.

It's incredible how something as common as the flu could kill a grown man in less than five days.

The Loud family, needless to say, was never the same afterwards.

With half of the household income gone, and the insurance company's resistance to provide compensation, the family quickly fell on hard times; it was difficult for a single parent of elven to provide a decent standard of living for their six remaining children in the home.

Still, they managed, the oldest five, with lives of their own, sending home money whenever they could.

Then Lola got sick.

Leukemia, hereditary from their mothers side, and as the chemotherapy and radiation treatments continued to increase, so too did the cost. As the bills began to pile up, so too did the stress on Rita, who after a year of keeping it together for her children finally succumbed to the pressure of it all.

She collapsed; nervous breakdown, which further worsened the Loud's situation.

With their parents either deceased or ceasing to function, the responsibility of keeping the family from going under fell upon the five oldest siblings.

Well, them and Lincoln.

He made the decision just before graduation, choosing to forgo furthering his education and instead enlist in the Army.

It wasn't his first decision, and it certainly wasn't what he saw himself doing with his life, but it was a paycheck, a decent one, and when it came down to brass tacks, keeping his family afloat was more important than his own future.

Fortunately, his best friend had made the decision to accompany him on his new-found path.

They were quite the duo, managing to rise up into the upper echelons of combat units and partake in some of the most insane shit they'd ever seen.

Best four years of their lives, they'd both agreed.

The pay was excellent, the job was exciting, and they had enough brushes with death to last several lifetimes. His paycheck became pivotal in keeping the family out of poverty, and the Loud sisters knew they could never repay him for what he did.

But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, and after an honorable discharge, Lincoln found himself back in Royal Woods, bouncing from job to job, looking for something to fill the ever-growing hunger in his stomach.

It'd been a year since he'd been back, and he still hadn't readjusted.

His sisters asked about what he did in the Army, what they made him do.

He shrugged them off, refusing to answer them.

Not like he could if he wanted to.

He'd talk to Clyde..but…well…no

No, he wouldn't dwell on that.

. . . . .

Lincoln slowly rotated the steering wheel, turning his old DeLorean down his street, creeping along the pavement till he reached the house's driveway.

Turning onto the hard-packed gravel, Lincoln gazed up at the old place; despite all the wear and tear over the years, it still looked solid. He and Lana had made a project of renovating portions of it when he returned home, but still maintained most of the original building.

A small smile flitted across his face at the memory; a plethora curses and a menagerie of injuries were shared between him and his younger sister.

It was one of the more enjoyable experiences he'd had since his return.

Killing the engine, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled the interior door handle, the hatch raising above his head like a bird's wing.

Stuffing the keys in his jacket pocket, Lincoln made his way up the gravel path to the porch, abruptly stopping once he reached the first step.

There, in front of the entryway to the house, was a plain, brown box.

Lincoln frowned.

Striding up the steps towards the door, he reached down to pick up the package, gently shaking it in curiosity.

Simply wrapped, the box was suspiciously bare; no delivery address, no return address, no postage stamp.

Slowly, he began to tear the brown paper away, revealing a taped cardboard container. Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew his knife, flicking it open and slicing in between the top flaps.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he opened the package.

"What the fuck?"

Neatly tucked inside the container was a rubber mask; a rubber Rooster mask to be exact.

Lincoln frowned.

Was this a joke? Did Lily order it for one of her costumes? With no return address or watermark, Lincoln wasn't sure _where_ it came from.

Tucking the box under his arm and fishing his keys from his pocket, Lincoln unlocked the front door and stepped inside, calling out a greeting only to be met with silence.

"Nobody's home." He muttered to himself.

 _BEEP BEEP_

The sound of the answering machine resonated throughout the empty house, drawing his attention. Placing the package beside the door, he moved to the answering machine on the hall table, and pressed play.

 _You have one new message._

" _Hi,"_ and even voice sounded, _"this is 'Tim' at the bakery. The cookies you ordered should be delivered by now…. A list of ingredients are included…. Make sure you read them carefully!"_

 _End of Messages._

"List of ingredients?" he questioned out loud, moving back towards the front door and rifling through the box.

There, underneath the mask, was a single slip of paper.

Grabbing it, Lincoln flipped the switch of the hall light on, raising it up and squinting to get better look at the small, typed lettering.

" _The target is a briefcase. Discretion Is of essence. Leave target at point F-32, inside the dumpster. Failure is not an option. We'll be watching you."_

Oh.

 _Oh._

So, they had finally gotten back to him.

Quickly crumpling the paper and shoving it in his back pocket, Lincoln grabbed the mask and rushed upstairs, reaching his room and locking the door. Reaching into his closet, he pulled out a set of black, finger-less gloves, his Letterman jacket, and a pair of comfortable blue jeans.

Quickly throwing them on, he stuffed the mask into his jacket pocket and threw on his trusty pair of Chuck Taylor's. Taking a quick appraisal in the mirror on the back of his door and satisfied with his appearance, he went back to the closet and pulled out one last thing.

It was as solid as ever; comfortable, oiled, and well balanced. He took a minute to appreciate the finely crafted piece of wood, before slinging it over his shoulder and throwing the door open, making his way downstairs.

Before stepping outside, he made sure the mask was still in its place; the lump in his jacket pocket confirmed it was still on his person.

Nodding to himself, Lincoln took a deep breath before marching outside and letting the door slam behind him.

. . . . .

 **01:00 AM**

A lone figure stood outside the metro station, adorning a strange mask before bursting through the front doors.

The Russian Mobster was leaning against the wall, the sound of the door slamming open around the corner causing him to jump. Curious, he moved along the wall, peeking his head around to get a better view of the entrance.

He never saw the bat come down on his head.

Falling to the ground, the Rooster positioned itself above the fallen gang member, raising the wooden weapon over his head and slamming it down into the face of the prone man, swinging again, and again.

He never had the chance to make a sound.

Satisfied with his kill, the Rooster quickly dashed down the stairs, drawing the attention of another mobster.

The man came at him, swinging his fist wide which Rooster ducked under. Seeing an opening, Rooster swung the back into the side of his attacker's knee, causing him to cry out in pain as he fell.

Rooster swung the bat back, smashing it against the side of the man's head, brains splattering against the adjacent wall.

Moving along, he found himself along the train platform, eyes darting back and forth, searching for his target. He spotted him down the platform, two guards accompanying him.

Sprinting towards them, the first guard had barely turned around as the weapon cracked against the back of his neck. His friend cursed in anger, flicking his switchblade open and taking a swing.

Rooster barely dodged the swing as the blade nicked his shoulder, quickly swinging the bat and smashing his attackers hand.

The Russian screamed in pain, falling to his knees as he gingerly held his shattered hand. He began to look up and let out one final, short yelp as the bat came crashing down into his face with a sickening crack.

God, he could _taste_ the adrenaline.

Dropping the bat with a clank, and drawing back, his gaze fell on his target; a shaking, suited man who had pissed himself.

'Fucking traitor' Rooster thought.

Grabbing the knife, he sauntered over to the sniveling man who had backed up to the edge of the platform.

"Please, don't do this!" He began to plead. "I'll give you whatever you want! I'm a powerful man! I can make it worth your while! Just please do- "

Without hesitation, Rooster jabbed the blade into the man's neck, quickly pulling it out and stabbing again in his kidneys.

The man, wide-eyed, slide down the wall, hands desperately trying to stop the bleeding that only began to intensify.

Rooster watched, gaze never wavering.

Watching the man go limp, Rooster moved to grab the briefcase at his side, keeping it at his side as he ran back the way him came in.

Coming to the top of the stairs, he spotted a Russian kneeling beside his first victim. The mobster turned his head towards him, eyes going wide before cursing in his native tongue.

Rooster kept sprinting.

Holding the briefcase in front of him, he slammed into his target, knocking him on his back. Rooster towered over him and raised his foot, the Russian screaming before it came down into his face, causing him to go limp.

Hearing shouts from down the stairs, Rooster moved forward, bursting out the entrance doors of the station and dashing to his car.

Quickly hopping inside, he fired up the engine, slammed on the gas pedal, and surged out onto the road.

. . . . .

 **02:00 AM**

Tossing the briefcase into the open dumpster, Rooster made his way back down the alley towards his car, mask still adorning his face.

'Too easy' he thought to himself.

In fact, this whole 'job' was way too simple; a couple thugs protecting some corrupt bureaucrat? What kind of amateur did they take him for?

Still though, he got to take down a couple Russian fuc-"

"Hey! Who goes there?" a voice yelled out.

Turning around, he spotted a bum coming towards him, metal pipe in hand.

"Whatsa matter boy?" he questioned, "Too chicken to tell me why you're in my alley?"

Rooster kept silent.

"Fine then you fuck!" the bum yelled, "This'll teach you for coming on to my turf!"

He ran forward, raising the pipe above his head and letting out a war cry. Rooster, instincts taking over, ducked the incoming swing, and used the bum's momentum to flip him over his shoulder, landing on his back.

Grabbing the pipe, Rooster stood over him, the bum keeping quiet as the metal pipe came crashing into his face.

He groaned and tried to roll over, but something overcame Rooster. He felt, deep within his gut, to finish it, to keep smashing, _hurt._

And then, he wasn't in an alley anymore.

He was in the jungle, standing over some Russian that tried to get the drop on him.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air.

His unit had been moving towards their target, and the Ruskies got the drop on them.

They tried to kill them all.

Tried to kill his _friends._

And Rooster felt _rage_.

So he raised the pipe over his head and brought it down again.

And again.

And again.

He kept swinging until the Russian's head was a pile of mush splattered across the asphalt.

Wait.

 _Asphalt?_

He was back in the alley, standing over a dead bum, metal pipe dripping with grey matter.

"What the _fuck."_ He spoke into the night air.

The thick stench of blood and voided bowels filled his nostrils.

His body ached.

The piece of metal in his hand grew heavy.

He gazed at the body below him

Dropping the pipe, he slowly backed away, turning around and running back to the car.

Oh Christ

He felt sick.

Reaching the car, Lincoln tore the mask off his face, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk. He felt the rush of adrenaline leave his body as he sat in the driver's seat, pulling out of the parking space and onto the road

He took a deep breath, and tossed the Rooster mask in the passenger seat.

. . . . .

 **03:15 AM**

Pulling into the gravel driveway, Lincoln killed the engine, stuffing the mask into his jacket as stepped out and moved inside the house.

Closing the door as quietly as possible, he noticed the flickering blue light of the TV illuminating the living room. Deciding to forgo the explanation of why his clothes were soaked in blood, he instead decided to go straight to bed.

He moved up the stairs as quietly as possible, stepping into his room and locking the door.

Pulling his clothes off and tossing them into a pile, Lincoln sat on the edge of his bed, taking another deep breath before lying back.

It had been too easy, he decided.

Too easy for him to casually take the life of another human being.

'It wasn't my first time though.' He thought as his body began to shut down, drifting off into slumber.

' _And it certainly won't be my last.'_

* * *

 **A/N; Decided to try something entirely new. Hopefully its an enjoyable read. Let me know how I can improve it!** _  
_


	2. Conversation Over Coffee

**A/N: Gonna try and take this a different direction than just regurgitating Jacket's story in Hotline Miami, but he's the main influence for this AU's Lincoln. Enjoy!**

. . . . .

 _Flame_

 _That was the first sensation he began to feel._

 _Heat._

 _He was surrounded by fire; bullets whizzing overhead, explosions pulverizing the earth, men screaming into the scorching air as the world burned around them._

 _He laying was on his back, blood flowing freely from the shrapnel wounds littered across the left side of his body. A grenade? No…no it was a mortar…. yeah, that was it. He and Clyde had ducked behind a small dike, trying to get into a more protective position, and then a mortar shell landed right next to them, and then he was on his back, the world moving in slow motion._

 _He wondered if Clyde was ok, deciding to turn his head to the side and ask him. There he was, meeting Lincoln's gaze._

" _Clyde," he asked "You ok man?"_

 _No response._

" _C'mon man," He tried to sit up, but he couldn't find the strength. "How close to us did that fuckin shit hit?"_

 _His head felt light, was it always this cold on Kauai at this time of year?_

 _Clyde still didn't respond, a faraway look plastered to his face._

 _Lincoln stared at him as another explosion blasted a few hundred meters away._

" _How are we gonna get out of this Clyde? Lincoln asked, eyes moving to stare deeply into the starry night sky, illuminated by the intense fires around him._

 _His eyes began to feel heavy._

 _Maybe he could take a quick nap, and then he and Clyde could get back to base._

 _He was so damn tired._

" _Hey!" a voice shouted, sounding distant in Lincolns mind. "Hey help me with this one! He's bleedin out!"_

 _Lincoln felt a pair of hands grab onto his collar, hoisting him up to a sitting position._

" _Fuckin A' man." The soldier addressed Lincoln. "We need a fuckin medic over here!" he shouted. "Don't worry buddy, you're gonna be just fine! MEDIC!" he shouted louder._

" _My friend, you need to help my friend." Lincoln mumbled out, eyes growing heavier by the minute._

 _Wait…._

 _Where was Clyde?_

" _Where's Clyde?" he asked the soldier holding him. The guy only tightened his grip in response._

" _I gotta help Clyde."_

" _Don't worry bro." He heard another voice say. Good, the Medic had arrived "Im gonna patch you up and you're gonna be alright."_

 _Lincoln felt the steady hands of the field medic begin to patch him up, but why was he still so tired? Why couldn't he feel his left side? He didn't even remember checking into this hospital. How much was this treatment going to cost him? Hell, how was he going to pay for it? Lola needed every cent he could make. Where was Clyde?_

" _I'm sorry man," he spoke up, eyes fluttering, "I don't have anything to pay you with."_

 _He thought, through his blurred vision, he saw the Medic smile._

" _Don't worry dude, it's on the house!"_

. . . . .

 **April 4** **th** **, 2028; 05:45 AM**

Shooting up, Lincoln Loud immediately wretched into the waste basket next to his bed, body drenched in a cold sweat.

Spitting out the residual bile, he sat back up, slouching against the wooden backboard.

"Fuck" he mumbled aloud, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm.

It'd been over a year and a half.

Why was it always _that_ dream?

Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. It was early, too early for the other residents of the home, but he deduced that after that little trip down memory lane, he wasn't going to get much more sleep.

Tossing the bedsheets aside, Lincoln stood up and stretched, rolling his shoulders back as his joints and muscles cracked and rippled with movement. Opening his closet, he pulled out a pair of jeans and a black hoodie, deciding on a more casual, comfortable outfit for the day.

It was as he was pulling the hoodie over his head that he noticed the smell that permeated his room; Something absolutely fucking _reeked,_ and he doubted it was the puke in the trash can.

He walked over and picked up the outfit he'd worn the previous night, taking a slight whiff before recoiling in disgust.

Jesus _Christ_ , he had totally forgotten how foul gore stank the longer it aged.

He knew it couldn't wait; choosing to use the early hour to his advantage, Lincoln quietly opened his door and gently descended downstairs, cautiously gliding down the hall before making his way down the steps to the basement.

Throwing the whole pile in the ancient washing machine, he swiftly added a capful of detergent before starting the rinse cycle, heading back upstairs once he heard the relic roar to life.

He checked his watch as he entered the kitchen; 06:05. 'Might as well grab a shower before the rest of the house wakes up', he thought to himself.

It was as he walked back down the hallway that he heard the television blaring. Frowning, he stopped just before the stairs, peeking his head into the living room to see just who was up this early in the morning.

He sighed as he spotted the passed out figure of Rita Loud on the couch, a half-empty bottle merlot clutched in her hand as she mumbled in her sleep.

He moved over towards her, gently lifting the bottle from her hand and placing it on the coffee table. Position one of his arms under her knees and the other behind her shoulders, he gingerly lifted her up, carrying her bridal style as he made his way back to the stairs.

It absolutely pained him to see his mother like this; She had tried, she really did, to keep everything together when his father passed, but when Lola got sick, it was just all too much.

Too much weight for one person to bear.

It started off small enough; a glass of wine after a long day at work or after a visit to the hospital, a shot of whiskey to help her relax on her day off, and a martini with each dinner. As time passed though, and the deeper in debt they went, a glass turned into a bottle, which turned into two, up to the point where the matriarch was consuming several bottles of wine and hard liquor a day.

She had gotten much better once Lincoln and his older sisters began sending money home, eventually returning to a stable rate of consumption.

Still, old habits die hard.

Bumping open her door with his hip, Lincoln moved into his mother's room, gently placing her on the bed and pulling the unkempt blankets up to cover her prone form. Apparently, the movement was enough to jostle her awake.

"Lincoln?" she mumbled through half lidded eyes. "Wha…. where am I?" Lincoln placed his hand on top of her frizzled, blonde hair, gently rubbing her forehead with his thumb. "Shhhh, It's ok Mom, you're in bed. Just rest, ok?"

Rita let a small smile grace her lips before turning into her side, allowing her body to melt into the comfortable mastrees.

"My Lincoln…" She breathed out, sleep overtaking her. "Such a good boy…." A light snoring filled the room, and Lincoln gave her a kiss on the cheek as he quietly walked into the hall and lightly shut the door.

He looked down, letting out a sigh before making his way towards the bathroom.

. . . . .

At 19, Lucy Loud could say with the utmost certainty that she had never met another man quite like her brother.

When their mother lost herself, she and her other siblings thought their world was over; that everything the Loud family had come to represent would be scattered to the wind. Lucy knew her older siblings had discussed splitting guardianship of their younger siblings, but at the expense of leaving their mother, their sole surviving parent, to face the void alone.

Then along came Lincoln with another one of his 'compromises'.

All of her sisters, including herself, were opposed to the idea.

Lincoln was supposed to be an artist, a comic book creator; he was supposed to go to school, earn a degree, not become some disposable asset on the frontlines of some battlefield halfway across the globe.

He wouldn't hear any of their protests, however.

He was gone for four years, five if you count his year of training. They had little to no contact, and whenever they did manage to connect with him, they only spoke about what was happening on their end, never on his.

His paychecks, however, always arrived at the house on time every month.

And…well…

Lucy would be lying if she said Lincoln wasn't the sole reason they had survived this long.

She was always especially fond of her brother, himself being one of the few people she could actually confide in. She considered him her closest sibling, always there to lend a helping hand and a warm smile.

When he returned though, he was thoroughly changed.

Instead of the bright, outgoing, and charismatic young boy she remembered leaving, a hardened, stoic, and cynical man had returned in his place.

And it ate away at her heart.

Her older brother, her rock, the only man who had ever managed to convince her to lower her walls, had raised a series of walls himself, refusing to let anyone see inside, even one of his closest sisters.

Still though, there were times when his exterior shell cracked, allowing Lucy a glimpse of the old Lincoln, the one she held so dear to her heart.

This morning for instance.

Lucy, contrary to the opinion of the rest of her sisters, was an early bird; the goth found she preferred the early morning dawn far more than the late night hours. It was…. soothing… for her, therapeutic even.

Waking up at around five o clock, she got up, showered, dressed, and silently made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Flipping on the coffee brewer, she walked into the living room, ignoring her mother's slumped form as she perused the bookshelf for one of her favorite poetry books.

Making her choice, she pulled the novel from the shelf, turning to make her way into the dining room and sitting at the head of the table.

Some forty minutes passed before she heard light footsteps down the stairs, making their way through the hall and heading down to the basement.

She kept her attention on her book, chalking it up to Lana or Lynn getting some early morning laundry done.

Then, however, she heard the individual come back up the stairs, move back down the hallway, and stop.

Her curiosity getting the best of her, she decided to look up, scanning the living room through the dining room doorway.

And that's when she saw Lincoln.

Her older brother looked like hell; haggard, exhausted, bags forming under his weary eyes. She quietly watched as he casually picked up their indisposed mother, and carried her upstairs to her bed.

Her heart ached at the sight.

Lincoln deserved so much better than this.

He deserved a _life,_ not this existence as a caretaker.

Placing her book down, she pushed her chair back as she stood up, moving in to the kitchen and opening the fridge.

The _least_ she could do for her brother was show him she cared.

. . . . .

Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, Lincoln tied the towel to his waist, quietly stepping into his room and shutting the door.

Removing the towel and drying the remainder of his body off, he threw the damp cloth into his wastebasket, adorning his previous outfit of a hoodie and jeans before stepping back into the hall and heading downstairs.

Halfway down the steps, he began to smell the scent of cooking meat. Bacon, possibly? He frowned; he hadn't heard anybody wake up since he had.

Reaching the landing and cautiously entering the kitchen, he was met with the sight of Lucy, stirring a collection of pans with a wooden spatula.

"There's fresh coffee in the pot" she spoke aloud, attention still turned to the cooking food on the stove. Lincoln, a little surprised, walked over to the machine, grabbing a mug from the cabinet before pouring himself a cup. "Thanks."

Lucy nodded, arranging a combination of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast on two plates, before turning off the oven.

"What's all this?" Lincoln queried, sipping the black liquid while leaning against the sink, eyeing Lucy from beyond the rim of his cup.

She turned around. "Breakfast." She replied, before whisking the two plates out of the kitchen and placing them on the dining room table.

Lincoln continued to stand there, dumbfounded. Lucy sat down out a table and began to eat, finally moving her head to regard her brother. "Before it gets cold, Linc." She spoke before turning back to her meal.

Lincoln, shocked now, slowly walked to the table and sat down, eyes fixated on his sister.

"Who are you and what have you done with Lucy?" he half-joked, placing his coffee next to his plate.

"Can't a sister do something nice for her brother?" she threw back with a small smile. Lincoln, to Lucy's shock, returned with something she hadn't seen in a long, long time.

He smiled.

A real, genuine, Lincoln Loud smile.

And it made her heart explode.

"I guess." He said as he tossed her a wink, making Lucy blush slightly, before digging into his eggs.

Lucy switched between eating and tossing glances at her brother, nervous as she watched him wolf down his breakfast.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked innocently, fully aware of him coming into the house at three in the morning, sleeping for two hours, then waking up at five to continue his day.

He paused while sipping his coffee, instantly alert. Had she seen him come in last night? Did she know?

No, no there was no way she knew about last night.

Taking another gulp, he slowly lowered his cup, eyes cast down, boring into the table.

"Yeah, something like that." He answered, declining to elaborate.

Silence fell over the two.

Lucy looked away nervously, deciding it was now or never. "Lincoln…please talk to me."

His gaze instantly moved to Lucy, the young women's eyes intently studying the far wall.

"Look I...I know I can never fully understand what you experienced but…." She continued trying to formulate the correct words to convey her feelings of…. distress over his distance from her. "But…. look I just want you to know that I'm here for you, and regardless of what you say, cutting yourself off from us isn't going to make things better." Her eyes shifted to meet his, taking the opportunity to move the dark bangs shielding her eyes aside.

"Please stop ignoring us." She asked pleadingly.

Lincoln, to say the least, was absolutely floored.

Had he been ignoring his family? Sure he had been quiet about his time abroad, and sure he sometimes chose not to elaborate on certain topics to spare them the horrific details, but had he really been cutting them out of his personal life entirely?

He couldn't say.

But he could say for certain that he'd been neglecting his sisters for far too long.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. 'Guess it's time.' He thought to himself.

"Lucy..." He began. "I'm so sorry."

A surprised looked crossed the goth's face.

"I never meant to ignore you guys. Hell, I didn't even know you all felt that way…I didn't know _you_ felt that way." He began rubbing his chin, fingers tracing the scar lines running along the underside of his neck.

A faraway look entered his eyes, gazing off at far wall. "To be honest Luce, this past year has been a fucking blur; It feels like I've just been drifting along since I got home." Lucy's expression softened as Lincoln continued, still absent-mindedly tracing his healed wounds.

"It's not something I can easily talk about…..I've seen and done a lot.. _a lot_ … of bad shit darlin… and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the closest people I have in my life knowing what a monster their brother is."

Lucy's empathy quickly turned into anger, a frown marring her otherwise flawless face.

"Lincoln, you were in a _war._ You had your orders and they had there's. None of us, least of all me, would judge you for what you had to do.

To her surprise, Lincoln let out a laugh. "Yeah," he said, "That's all I was doing, right? Just following orders?"

His hands stopped tracing, eyes refocusing on Lucy, staring deeply into her iris's.

"That's what I keep telling myself."

A shiver ran through her core.

Swallowing, she reached out, taking the his worn and calloused hand and cradling them in her soft palms.

"It was you or them." She spoke, to which Lincoln only nodded, shutting his eyes before opening them and gazing into the black liquid half-filling his mug.

"Just give me a few hours, ok?" He began softly. "Then I'll tell you, and _only_ you." He finished, giving her a stern look. "I couldn't handle telling the whole family at once."

Lucy only nodded, elated and relieved that her only brother chose to confide in her rather than anyone else.

He offered her a small smile. "Thanks for the breakfast, Luce" he spoke as he stood up, grabbing both their plates. "It means a lot, really." He placed a small kiss on the top of her head and walked into the kitchen, leaving Lucy flustered and reddened in her chair.

Shaking off her embarrassment she grabbed his mug and followed him, placing it next to the sink as he washed the dishes and utensils that filled it.

"Don't worry, I'll clean up. Probably start on breakfast for the rest of em." He offered as he washed their plates, then moving to the stove to start cooking for the rest of their siblings. "You've got work today, yeah?" He asked looking back at her, to which Lucy nodded. " Cool, we'll talk this evening then if that's alright?" She nodded in confirmation once again, smiling slightly. Lincoln, satisfied, turned back to the stove to begin cooking, only to feel a pair of petite arms wrap around his waist, and a soft, quick kiss against his cheek.

"Thank you." Lucy whispered into his shirt.

Lincoln simply smiled, turning around to give his little sister a proper embrace.

"Thanks for calling me out on my bullshit Luce, I really needed that."

. . . . .

Breakfast with the rest of the family went fairly smooth, especially after the heart-to-heart with Lucy earlier that morning. After their meal, Lily and Lana went off spend their day in the garage, the two undertaking a project to create an engine that ran completely on water, while Lisa returned to her lab, leaving Lynn to help Lincoln clean up the kitchen.

"I'm telling you Linc, you'd love these guys," Lynn spoke to her brother as she put dried dishware away. "They all served in Hawaii like you, and they told me they worked with your unit at one point!" she exclaimed, Lincoln content to just listen to her ramblings. "You should come down to the bar with em sometime, you'd get a real kick of them."

A small chuckle escaped Lincoln's lips as he washed dishes. "Oh sure Lynn, that's exactly what I'd want to on a Friday night; get shit-faced with my sister and a bunch of strangers at a seedy bar downtown. What a treat that would be."

Lincoln laughed as she punched his arm, water splashing up out of the sink. "Don't be a smart ass, dude!" She smiled. "I'm serious! I really feel like you'd enjoy it." She turned back to continue putting dishes away. "I mean, I think it'd be fun; it'd give us chance to hang out, ya know? Make up for lost time?"

Ah.

So that was why she was so adamant about it.

She was reaching out to him.

' _Did she and Lucy coordinate this?'_ he thought suspiciously.

But…. did it really matter if they did?

Sighing, Lincoln turned to her. "I may tag along next time you go out, but no promises, okay?" Lynn nodded vigorously, practically bouncing with excitement. "Fuck yeah dude! We're gonna tear shit up!"

" _We're gonna tear shit up!" Clyde yelled to Lincoln over the roar of the helicopter._

Lincoln had to catch himself from stumbling, that single string of words surging forth a buried memory from deep within his mind.

Fuck.

Why did this shit keep happening?

Lynn looked over to her brother, noticing the color drain from his face.

'You ok bro?" She asked worryingly, noticing the instant shift in her brother's demeanor.

Lincoln shook his head, "Yeah, Of course." He replied hastily regaining his composure and finishing the last pan in the sink. "Think I'm gonna go for a drive, I'll see you later, ok?" He turned around, quickly moving to the front door. "Alright!" He heard Lynn call behind him, aware that when her younger brother had to go, he had to _go_. "Would you mind checking the answering machine before you leave though? It's been beeping all morning."

Lincoln stopped dead.

Wait.

 _What?_

 _BEEP BEEP_

Shaken from his stupor, he moved towards the machine, staring at the blinking number "1" on the screen.

That was impossible

He'd been up all morning.

There was no way he missed the phone ringing.

Or did he?

Was he just so distracted with his family moving around to hear it?

Why didn't anyone else pick it up?

"Hey Lynn," he called back down the hall, 'did you ever hear this thing ring?"

"No, I must have missed it, why?" He heard her call back.

Ok, so he wasn't crazy.

"No reason." He returned, slowly moving his hand forward and gently pressing play.

 _You Have One New Message._

 _"Hello," a women's voice sounded, "it's 'Linda'... I need a babysitter right away. Got a few kids that need to be disciplined here. I'm at East 7th Street. Make sure you have a long talk with them by the end of this week, I really need someone to get through to these rascals. And like last time... please be discrete!"_

 _End of Messages._

Another job?

 _This_ early?

"God dammit…" Lincoln muttered under his breathe. Tomorrow, he'd do it tomorrow.

He'd take today to rest, talk to Lucy, then suit up and head out tomorrow night.

If only he hadn't left his bat at the me-

"Hey Lincoln!" Lynn called from the living room over the sound of the television. When did she move in there? "Come check this out!"

Walking away from the answering machine and turning in to the living room, Lincoln caught the tail end of a news report that stopped him cold.

"…. _masked vigilante caught on camera fleeing the scene after murdering Senator Richards, who was discovered to have ties to the Russian Mob earlier yesterday. Another five victims were found alongside Richards, all connected directly to the mob itself. So far, no leads have come forth in regards to the identity of the assailant…"_

"Wild huh?" Lynn asked him, bringing out of his stupor. "Some guy in a chicken mask whacked a bunch of Russians and that corrupt senator last night at one of the metro stations in the city." She looked at Lincoln, smiling. "Bout time someone did something about those thugs, eh? Especially since the police won't touch 'em."

"Yeah." Lincoln replied, eyes fixed on the television as Lynn turned away.

"Least someone's doing something." He finished as he continued to stare at the snapshot of himself from the night before on the television; ominous, imposing, and bloody as he stood over the dead body of the senator.

He turned away and moved towards the front door, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and slipping on his shoes.

He needed some fresh air.

. . . . .

 **A/N: Exposition, Exposition, Exposition; its arduous to write, but necessary to the advancement of the plot nonetheless. Promise it'll pick up in the next chapter, Lincolns got a job to complete after all. Let me know how I can improve! Any feedback is appreciated!**


	3. No Talk

**Authors Notes:**

So the incredibly talented writer AberrantScript made me realize something while I was reading one of their works; Some people may find the contents of this story disturbing. While I can assure you of the absence of any sexual misconduct (A.I Rape, Assault, Etc.), there will be gratuitous amounts of violence, drug use, cursing, and death. Its rated M for a reason. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, by all means feel free to stop reading.

It's understandable; don't force yourself.

I'm not big on 'trigger warnings', but I felt the need to address the content of this story, and this will be the first and only time I do so.

This story isn't going to have a happy ending; edgy, I know, but what would you expect to come out of continually escalating violence?

Hopefully, most of you will stick around to find out!

Now, with that out of the way, let's get the ball rolling.

. . . . .

 _It wasn't always there._

 _That gnawing ache in the pit of his gut_

 _The hunger that cried out for reprieve every day of his life._

 _Surprisingly, it used to make him feel sick._

 _When he was a kid, just barely thirteen, his father had taken him out hunting, as his father had done with him and so on and so forth. As it happened, Lincoln, by sheer luck, managed to score a solid eight-point buck. Lynn Sr. was ecstatic, as proud as any father could be, but as Lincoln cut his way through the animal's abdomen to remove its internal organs, he couldn't help but feel horror at what he had done._

 _He had taken a life; an animal at least, but a life nonetheless._

 _The feeling of horror was eventually overtaken by guilt, and as he helped his father load it into the back of his grandfather's borrowed truck, the unease only deepened._

 _Two weeks passed, and the feeling still hadn't lightened._

 _He became quiet, sullen; silently going through the motions of everyday life without nary a word, his family watching in curiosity and apprehension._

 _Rita, concerned for her son's change in demeanor and his refusal to talk to his parents, called the boy's grandfather, as the two had always shared a special relationship._

 _Once Albert was filled in on the situation, he knew exactly what to do._

 _He asked Lincoln to lunch; the grandfather picking up his grandson on a Saturday afternoon, heading to one of their favorite diners in town._

 _They were quiet as they pulled into the parking lot, getting out of the car and stepping inside the establishment._

 _They managed to grab their favorite booth, the friendly waitress meeting the two regulars with a smile, pouring them each a cup of black coffee._

" _Thank you, Sandra." Albert thanked and the waitress nodded "If you boy's need anything else, just give me a yell!" She gave them another smile before walking off to take care of her other tables._

 _They sat in silence for a moment, Lincoln looking deep into the dark liquid._

" _I ever tell you 'bout my time in the service?" The wizened old man spoke, eyebrow raised as he looked at Lincoln, sipping his coffee._

 _Lincoln looked up to his grandfather, eyes wide as he shook his head._

" _Not really something I feel the need to talk about." Albert continued, placing his mug on the table in front of him. "Decided that it would be better if I just kept quiet about it; not really something people need to know about me."_

 _Lincoln took a sip of his beverage, staring intently at his grandfather._

" _What happened?" He asked._

 _Albert chuckled, rubbing his hands together and shifting his gaze out the booth window._

" _Somehow, without fail, I always managed to find myself in the middle of some pretty intense situations; some good, some bad." He returned, "But this one in particular is the most pertinent to what you're experiencing now, my boy."_

 _Lincoln continued to stare at his grandfather, transfixed._

 _Albert took the opportunity to continue, a far-away look entered his eyes._

" _We were a five days or so out of Da Nang, making our way along the Song Tra Bong river to check out this little village in the western hills. Area was too hot for helicopter landings so we had to hump it there." Albert paused, picking up his mug and taking a swig._

" _We turned into this really narrow trail; so narrow we had to file our way through one by one. We drew straws who would take point, and my buddy Roy got the short end of the stick, no pun intended." Albert let out a laugh and Lincoln let out a small chuckle, hanging on every word his beloved grandfather spoke._

" _A few miles later, we start getting shot at; nothing major. I believe it was a VC patrol we had wandered in to? I can't really remember, but as soon as we heard the first gunshot, I saw Roy go stiff and crumple to the ground."_

 _A light frown formed on Albert's face._

" _I was only a man away so I dived towards him, giving him a look over to see where he'd been hit." He paused again, eyes drifting further away into memory. "The left side of his face was blown off…. he was killed instantly."_

 _Lincoln's mouth hung open, appalled that his grandfather had seen such a horrific sight._

" _I couldn't believe it," Albert spoke, "One moment, my best friend was joking about some brawl he had gotten into back in Saigon, and the next he was just..gone." He continued lowly, eyes slowly refocusing, returning to Lincoln._

" _I don't really know what happened next…. the rest of the guys in my platoon said I screamed, stood up, and charged those bastards…. All I remember was feeling this…rage, this… need to hurt the people who had killed my friend."_

 _Lincoln sat completely still, eyes wide and completely stunned by the tale._

" _You really did that?" he asked softly. Albert shifted his gaze back to Lincoln, giving him a small smile._

" _Sure did; it was the most stupid damn thing I've ever done in my life." He laughed out, Lincoln cracking up as well._

" _I don't know how I did it, but I managed to make my way up to these huge boulders, which these guys were using for cover." Albert continued with his tale. "I charge my way around these huge damn rocks and I come face to face with these…..kids."_

 _Lincoln inhaled sharply._

" _Couldn't have been more than fourteen, maybe fifteen years old." He says looking down into his mug. "And I see this…. look of fear on their faces as they turn around and see me raising my rifle at them…" Albert stopped speaking, closing his eyes and taking a few breathes before continuing._

" _At that moment, I was beyond mercy, beyond understanding, I just felt….rage. And when I blew apart the two farthest from me, the one closest leaped on me, knocking me to the ground." He opened his eyes again, raising the mug to his lips._

" _It was easy to over-power him; I was a farm boy raised on momma's home cooking in the good old US of A, and here was this lithe, small rice farmer trying to kill me in hand-to hand combat."_

 _Lincoln's coffee sat untouched, cold, as his grandfather pressed on. A shiver went through his body as he watched his grandfather's eyes harden; cold, calculating, and lethal._

" _I managed to get on top of him, and pulled out my knife, quickly thrusting it into his gut and twisting." He moved a hand to his chin, rubbing gently. "The sound he made Lincoln…..I still hear it sometimes. I didn't care though; I didn't care about his pain. In my mind, it was justified… they took Roy's life, I took theirs."_

 _Albert stopped his hand movements, while Lincoln held his breath._

" _Took two other guys from my platoon to drag me off…. apparently, I had kept stabbing long after he was dead. The SL said he looked like hamburger after I had finished." He let out a hollow laugh, "I barely remember it."_

 _Lincoln stared at his grandfather, mouth agape, shocked at this revelation._

 _He tried to speak, but nothing came forth._

 _Albert looked at his grandson, only nodding._

" _I know, I know, 'why is my crazy war vet grandpa telling me this story'." He said jokingly, earning a small smile from Lincoln._

" _There's a lesson in all this, don't worry." He reassured his grandson, finishing the last remnants of coffee in his mug._

" _You feel guilty about killing that deer, as you should. It's only natural to feel guilty about taking a life, any life for that matter. That was the first time I had taken the life of another living, breathing human being." He paused, allowing Lincoln to digest his words._

" _The worst part, however, is that I didn't feel guilty about it; they made their choice, I made mine, and that was that. I moved on, got on with my life." He paused to scratch his cheek. "I've never lost any sleep over it. But I still remember them, each and every one of their faces."_

 _He gazed deeply at Lincoln, who returned it equally as intensely_

" _So what I'm really trying to say is you can never forget a life you've taken, Lincoln, nor should you. That's the price you pay for taking it." He signaled the waitress to refill his mug. "And I hope and pray that you never get to the point where you feel nothing if you ever take another."_

 _Lincoln slowly nodded, understanding what his grandfather was trying to convey._

" _Was that the last time you took another life?" They young boy asked, concern marring his face._

 _Albert smiled somberly as the waitress made her way over to their booth._

" _No my boy, it certainly wasn't."_

 _. . . . ._

 **April 4** **th** **, 2028, 16:45 PM**

Lincoln took another drag of his cigarette as he pulled off the highway, smoke rolling out the window as he exhaled, radio blasting on full volume.

"A _modern day warrior, mean, mean stride…."_

He let his head relax against the back of his seat, shifting his arm to rest his elbow on the window sill.

" _Today's Tom Sawyer, mean, mean pride."_

Bobbing his head to the beat of the music, Lincoln could only smile as he pulled in to the small, decrepit parking lot.

God _damn,_ there really was no drummer better than Neil Peart.

Pulling right up to the building, he put the car in park and rolled up the windows. Killing the engine, he opened the gull-wing door and stepped out into the late afternoon haze.

He'd been driving all day, wandering in whatever direction he felt, stopping only to refill the tank of the DeLorean. He needed to clear his head, and driving was one of the few things that provided that relief.

Especially after this morning.

No one heard the phone ring? In a house of six?

 _That_ was a little too spooky; the whole situation unnerved him immensely.

Still, nothing a little smoke and Rush couldn't fix.

Stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, he meandered over to the front of the shop, gently opening the door and slipping inside.

A small ' _ding'_ signaled his entrance, causing the older gentleman behind the counter to look up in curiosity, grinning when he saw the shock of white hair and small smile of the fellow entering his shop.

"Well I'll be damned, if it isn't Lincoln Loud!" He spoke as he stood up from his stool, eagerly sticking out his hand in greeting. Lincoln broke out into a full grin as well, moving to the counter and strongly gripping the older man's hand. "Sam! How ya been?" he questioned.

They released their handshake and Sam let out a hearty laugh. "You know me; my old ass hasn't changed a bit! Look at you though! You look hard, boy!" Lincoln let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Been a while hasn't it? Last I heard you were fighting the Ruskies in Hawaii! When did you get back?" Sam questioned, eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Lincoln sighed.

He'd put this off for far too long.

Back when he was still in high school, just before his father passed, Sam had given Lincoln a job as a stock boy in this very pawn shop. It wasn't the most glamorous trade, but he and the old man soon became fast friends, bonding over their shared enthusiasm of a certain comic series.

He also managed to slip Lincoln some extra cash once shit hit the fan, which had endeared the shop owner to him even more.

Sam had shown such incredible kindness to Lincoln and his family without asking for anything in return, something that carried a lot of weight with the Louds.

Lincoln felt ashamed for not coming to see him sooner.

He decided it was time to come clean to one of his best friends.

"Bout a month ago." Lincoln returned, smiling sheepishly. "Got reassigned to Alaska after Hawaii."

So much for honesty.

"Well shit!" The old man barked out, pivoting on his heels to head into the stock room. "This calls for a celebration! I think I have an old bottle of '73 Jack in the back, let me go see if I ca-"

"Actually, Sam, as wonderful as it is to see you, I'm not just here to shoot the shit. I'm here as a customer." He laughed nervously, watching as Sam turned back to face him, eyebrows raised in question. "Gotta get back home and feed the family before it gets late, ya know?" He spoke, offering a small smile to Sam.

"Ah of course, of course, I know you're a busy man." He replied with a wave of his hand, shuffling back to the counter. "Still, you and I are gonna have a drink at some point, and I won't take no for an answer!" The old man jested, pointing a finger at Lincoln.

"Never crossed my mind." Lincoln responded warmly.

"Alright then." Sam returned, satisfied. "Now, what can I get ya?"

Lincoln took a step up to the counter, eyeing the display case. The shop had just about anything a person could ever want; clothes, electronics, jewelry, you name it.

Lincoln, however, was in the market for a much more dangerous product.

There was an assortment of knives, some collapsible batons, even a few small caliber pistols. He gazed over them all, taking in the vast array of concealable weaponry.

After several minutes of searching though, he looked up at Sam, frowning.

"You got anything that…you know…packs a punch?" He questioned, eyebrows raised. Sam smirked, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Give me one second." he turned around and began making his way toward the back. "I've got just the thing."

A few minutes passed before he returned, a small, wooden box clasped in his hands. He gently placed the container on the glass countertop, unclasping the latch and opening the lid, allowing Lincoln to observe the contents inside.

A wide grin formed on his face, eyes fixated on the items.

"Yeah," he spoke eagerly, "those will do."

. . . . .

 **17:35 PM**

After paying for his purchase, Lincoln bid Sam farewell, promising to stop by within the next week or so. Sam waved as he walked out of the shop, the front door opening with a small _'Ding'._

He fished his keys out of his pocket as he made his way to his car, box safely tucked underneath his left arm. Using his free hand to unlock it, he pulled it's handle and let the door raise up, plopping himself into the driver's seat before reaching up to close it.

He gently placed the container onto the passenger seat, smiling as he inserted the key into the ignition and started up the car.

Oh yes

Those would work _perfectly._

Looking over his shoulder, he backed out of his parking space, then pulled the car back onto the main road, heading back towards the interstate.

He was feeling good…..but as he turned onto the ramp and accelerated onto the interstate, he began to feel it.

That gnawing….that _hunger_ , slowly creeping up inside him.

Maybe he should head out earlier?

No…. He promised Lucy they would talk this evening…

But...Still….

No…

Fuck

He'd be lying if he said he didn't care about his little sister; Of course, he loved all of them equally, as a good brother should, but there was something special about Lucy…. Something he couldn't quite place even after all these years.

They grew closer as time wore on. Around the time Lincoln was a Sophomore, she'd begun to slip into his room late at night, just to talk; school, friends, life, really anything and everything they could think of.

He never really knew why it started, or _how_ even; she was just there one evening, gently shaking him awake and asking if they could talk.

The occurrence of these late night discussions was spread out at first, maybe once, twice every two weeks. Eventually, they began to happen at least twice a week, then every other day.

Once shit hit the fan though, it was every single night; sometimes for a few hours, sometimes till the sun rose the next morning.

It helped them cope…. heal, even; to be able to confide in another the emotions you hid from the rest of the world was a major release for the both of them.

They supported each other, and even though they didn't allow it to affect their relationships with their other siblings, they both silently agreed that their bond with one another was the closest.

Especially after Luna disappeared.

But then he left, and virtually cut her out of his life entirely.

He tried to justify it; shit was fucked, and she didn't need to know the horrid details about what happened overseasfb.

And now he was going to tell her everything.

C'est la vie, he supposed.

It took about thirty minutes for Lincoln to arrive back at Royal Woods, slowing the car down as he pulled on to Franklin Avenue. As he drew closer to the house, however, he could see another car parked just next to Vanzilla.

Not just any car though,

 _Her_ car.

Lincoln's stomach dropped.

Oh _fucking_ hell.

What was _she_ doing here?

Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he pulled into the drive, killing the engine and just sitting there.

This was the last thing on earth he wanted to deal with right now.

Hadn't she already made her choice?

Why the fuck was she deciding to come back now, after all this time?

Sighing, he stepped out of the car, shutting the door and quickly walking up the steps to the house. He reached the top, slowly moving to the door and reaching for the handle…

Wait.

He paused, hand barely gripping the door knob.

What was he doing?

He didn't need this.

He didn't need to see her, let alone exchange words.

She burned that bridged a long time ago.

They'd said everything that needed to be said.

But what if she tried to take one of the kids?

What if she tried to take Lana, or Lisa, or god forbid Lily, and he wasn't here to stop her?

He'd never forgive himself if that happened.

Steeling himself, he inhaled sharply, turning the knob and pushing the door open.

It was silent in the house, except for the quiet murmur of voices he heard emanating from the living room. He kept his shoes on as he softly made his way down the hall, slowly stepping around the corner and in to the living room.

On the couch was his mother, face in her hands, head shaking back and forth. He could tell she'd been crying; he'd become adept at discerning her body language over the years.

His gaze only lingered on her for a split second, as the individual gesturing animatedly next to her quickly drew his attention.

She was older, but she looked just as he remembered her.

It only took a second for her to stop her hand movements and shift her attention towards him, eyes widening slightly as she took in the sight of her towering younger brother.

Her mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but quickly closed. She brought a hand up and cleared her throat, before addressing the young man in the door way.

"Good evening, Lincoln." Her voice was clear, high, and as confident and full of itself as ever.

Lincoln offered her a slight nod in return.

"Evening, Lori." He replied

. . . . .

 **18:05 PM**

Lucy practically sprinted home once the clock hit six, signally the end of her work day.

She loved the library, she honestly, truly did. it was her sanctuary, her respite in bleak and dreary world, and walking through its doors every day for the past two years had always brought her immense joy.

She found solace in written words.

Today was different, however.

She hadn't been able to focus the entire shift, her mind continuously wandering back to her conversation with her only brother earlier that morning. No matter how hard she tried to work, she inevitably ended up staring into space, lost in thought.

Finally, after keeping to himself for so, so long, Lincoln was going to tell her everything.

And _only_ her.

That alone made her stomach flutter.

She was nervous, she had to admit; whatever Lincoln had been through, it was terrible enough to keep him from talking to the closest people in his life about it.

Terrible enough to keep him from talking to his closest sibling.

A part of her felt bad for thinking that her and Lincoln were closer than any other of their siblings. She knew it wasn't fair to the rest of them, as they'd all agreed that they loved each other equally…

And yet….

A part of her didn't really care.

A part of her was …. happy about the situation?

Go figure.

It only took her fifteen minutes before she saw the house is the distance, quickening her pace as her eagerness overtook her. She was about half a block away before she finally noticed the multiple vehicles parked in the driveway.

And one very specific turquoise Prius parked next to Vanzilla….

With a DeLorean just behind it.

Oh _no._

Why on God's green earth did Lori choose to come back today of all days?

This would throw a wrench in _everything._

She began to run towards the house, reaching the steps and quickly shuffling up before the front door swung open, a seething Lincoln storming past her.

"You can't run away from this, Lincoln!" A voice shouted from inside the house, Lori stepping on the front porch after Lincoln a moment later. "This is the best option!"

Lincoln stopped and turned around, a scowl crossing his face. "Yeah Lori, sending her away to rot in some facility and splitting up the girls is the _perfect_ thing to do! Man, can't see anything wrong with _that_ fucking plan!" Lucy frowned, absolutely puzzled at the exchange taking place between her oldest sister and only brother.

"Like it or not, it needs to happen! We can't keep denying it anymore! If you pulled your head out of your ass for one second you'd realize that!" Lori screamed back, Lincoln scoffing in response and opening the door to his car.

"Where the hell are you going? We aren't done talking about this!" Lori shouted at him as he slammed the door shut and fired up the engine. Lincoln rolled down the window and flipped her the finger, raising his arm high in the air for her to see.

"None of your fucking business!" He yelled in response, throwing the vehicle in reverse and roaring out of the driveway. He threw the gear shift in to drive and sped down Franklin Avenue, kicking up dust and detritus.

Lori pulled at her hair and screamed in frustration, the sound echoing out over the neighborhood. Lucy watched as her older sister visibly deflated and moved to the steps, sinking down and holding her head in her hands. Lucy cautiously moved over to her, taking a seat next to the exhausted looking women.

"Lori..." She spoke softly, the eldest Loud sibling looking up to meet her gaze.

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

. . . . .

 **23:45 PM**

The DeLorean pulled into an empty space just in front of the building, the muted atmosphere of late-night Detroit filled with the sound of its engine.

He couldn't wait till tomorrow, let alone the end of the week.

Pulling the rubber mask over his head, Rooster shut off the vehicle and stepped out into the cool night air, rolling his shoulders back as he made his way in to the apartment complex's front door's.

He walked down the hall and turned left, hitting a set of stairs and trotted up them. Once he reached the upper landing, he stopped just outside one of the several doors that lined the hallways and listened.

Yup, that was Russian he was hearing, no doubt about it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair brass knuckles, deftly slipping them on and flexing his fingers before positioning himself in front of the weathered-looking door.

In one fluid motion, he delivered a swift kick to its center, the door itself slamming wide open. He rushed into the room, eyes shifting, scanning the well-furnished living space. He heard a light shuffle down the hall to his right, no doubt some poor soul coming to check what all the noise was.

He moved to the edge of the corner and waited, a guy in a white suit coming in to view not a second later.

Without hesitation, Rooster struck out hard and fast, his metal-protected fist smashing in to the side of the mobsters face. The guy fell without a sound, and Rooster moved on top of him, slamming his fists into his prone targets face twice more until he heard the sound of cracking bone.

Satisfied, he continued down the hall until he reached the kitchen, finding it empty. Opting to enter the closest door to his left, one of two doors in the room, he burst through it, catching a glimpse of another mobster lounging on the couch.

The man cursed as he rushed forward, swinging a golf club towards Rooster's head. Rooster managed to duck just in time, throwing a punch into his attacker's gut, knocking the breath out of him and sending him sprawling to the floor.

Before he could finish him off, Rooster heard a door open behind him, and felt a pair of arms encircle his waist. Throwing his head back, he managed to break free, quickly pulling a one eighty and tossing out a right hook.

Out of sheer luck, it caught the Russian square in the chin, causing an audible crack and sending him stumbling back into the wall. He began to slide down as Rooster threw out a heavy kick, connecting with the mobster's head and splattering viscera and grey matter all along the wall.

Roosters quickly turned his attention back to the prone man, who had begun to stir, raising himself onto his hands and knees. Rooster strode over to the abandoned golf club and picked it up, raising it high over himself before bringing it down hard against his victim's heads.

The mobster collapsed back to the floor, unmoving. Rooster smashed the piece of metal against his cranium, once more for good measure, before dropping it and making his way back in to the kitchen.

He made a split second decision and sprinted towards the other door, slamming in to it and bursting through to the other side. The door smashed In to a patrolling mobster coming to check out the noise, knocking him to the floor and causing him to drop his weapon.

Rooster kept the moment going, throwing himself on top of the prone man and smashing his fists into the dazed mobster. It didn't take long before blood began to splatter on to his knuckles, the body under him going limp.

He stopped his assault and stood up, eyes drawn to the weapon the poor bastard had dropped.

It was a shotgun.

A _fucking Spaz-12_ at that.

He quietly moved over and picked it up, pulling back the pump a tad to see if it was loaded.

A chambered round and a full magazine.

Rooster grinned underneath his mask.

Only one room left to clear.

He shoved the pump forward and leveled it at the closed door in front of him, pulling the trigger and sending two rounds through the oak wood.

Heard something hit the ground and kicked the door open, spying the torn-apart body of a mobster before him.

He heard a shout at the end of the room around the corner, and before he knew it another mobster was rushing towards him, bat raised ready to deliver a lethal blow.

He never stood a chance.

Rooster began pulling the trigger as fast as he could, rounds pumping into the body of his would-be attacker. One caught him in the gut, sending him stumbling back. Another smashed into his right arm, sending it flying to the other end of the room The third managed to hit him in the head, completely decapitating him and leaving a fine mist in its place.

The tattered body fell with a thud, a Rooster waited for another mobster to round the corner.

They never came.

He listened for a moment.

Two.

Dead silence.

Satisfied, he slowly back tracked out the way he came, over the corpses and bodily fluids of the victim he'd slain.

He closed the front door as he stepped back out into the hall, lightly jogging down the stairs and rounding the corner. He shoved through the front doors and ran to his car, jumping inside before shoving the keys into the ignition and revving up the car.

He pulled out of his parking space and onto the deserted road, heading towards the interstate.

Once he hit the exit, Rooster tore off his mask and tossed in onto the passenger seat.

Inhaling sharply, Lincoln lowered his window and took a deep breath of the fresh, clean night air.

. . . . .

 **12:45 PM**

As he pulled off the exit to Royal Woods, Lincoln whipped out his cell phone and dialed a number, holding the device to his ear as he drove.

A few moments passed before a clear, familiar voice answered.

"Yo, Linc!" It spoke. "What's happening my dude?"

A small smile formed on Lincoln's lips.

Clyde could always put a smile on his face.

"A bunch of shit man. Lori came back today." His smile dropped, as frown replacing it.

"Really? Why dude? Didn't she cut you guys out of her life?" He questioned, confusion filling his voice.

"Yeah dude; two years she's gone, and then out of nowhere, she comes back with this plan of putting my mom in rehab and splitting up the four youngest amongst herself, Leni, and Luan." Lincoln continued, grip tightening in the wheel."

"Damn Linc, that's pretty heavy." Clyde replied. "How are you holding up?"

Lincoln sighed.

"I feel like everything is going to shit, Clyde." He continued. "I feel like I'm losing everything; my family, my life, _myself_." He paused. "I don't know what to do."

"Look man," Clyde began, "I know everything seems hopeless right now, but you've gotta keep your head high; your family still loves you, your friends still love you, and you'll always have me bro." Lincoln smiled, contemplating his best friend's wise words. "And whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere. You can always count on me." He finished, causing Lincoln to laugh.

"Clyde my man, I don't know what I'd do without you." He paused, eyes staring down the deserted street. "I can never thank you enough."

Clyde let out a hearty chuckle, a small crackle of static cutting through the connection as Lincoln pulled onto Franklin Avenue.

"Don't worry dude, it's on the house!"

. . . . .

A/N: **As always tell me what you liked, what you didn't like and how I can improve!**


	4. Old Habits

**A/N: Been a hot minute since I've updated this story, but I really don't have an excuse. Life got hella busy and I got mad writers block, what can I say. Apologies for such a long wait, I'll try to keep uploads at a consistent pace. Cést la vie I suppose.**

. . . . .

 _He wasn't entirely sure exactly how he had come to idolize the bold, bitter beverage he currently nursed in his hand._

 _He was only aware that nowadays, he drank it religiously._

 _Early morning, late at night, there wasn't a time of day where he couldn't enjoy a piping hot mug of liquid energy._

 _He could think a several possible instances where it could have cemented itself in his life; that time in his foxhole in Ukraine when it was four below zero. That café in Paris when he was on leave. That mission on Hawaii where he got four hours of sleep over five days, or even the red-eye back to LAX after his discharge._

 _If he was really honest with himself though, where it had seriously taken hold was most definitely this old, run-down place._

 _Still, despite the cracked tiles, worn tabletops, and cranky cook, the ancient diner still had its charms._

 _He balanced the warm mug in his hand, staring deeply into its steaming, inky black depths._

" _Can I get ya anything else hun?" Martha, the sweet, middle-aged waitress questioned as she passed his table._

 _Lincoln offered her a sincere smile. "No ma'am, coffee is just fine for now." He answered. "Well if you need anything darlin, just give me a yell!" She returned with a shining grin and a wink before heading off to check on the other patrons in the place._

 _All four of them._

 _Not many people were out and about at 01:30 at night._

 _Though, Lincoln found he preferred it that way._

 _He'd been coming to this place for years with Albert, and sat in this very booth; it was their spot, their own little place to just share in each other's company, and after he had passed, Lincoln couldn't bring himself to stay away._

 _And he didn't feel like sharing it with anybody else._

 _So he continued to sit in his spot, sipping mug after mug of coffee late into the night ever since._

 _Alone._

 _Thinking._

 _Brooding._

 _How long had it been since Albert passed?_

 _It couldn't have been more than two, maybe three years? He didn't rightly know, the whole ordeal was a blur for him. His death felt like a lifetime ago, but at the same time it felt like just yesterday he was here, right across from Lincoln, regaling him with another story of his varied and vivid life._

 _He hadn't been home when it happened._

 _He'd just arrived in Poland, preparing to ship off to the front when he got a call from Lori. Their relationship was rocky then, and looking back, he realized it was one of the last conversations they had with one another before she ran._

 _She bluntly told him what happened, and that the funeral was being held in three days. He hadn't even fully registered what she had said before she wished him luck and hung up._

 _He was a little stunned, to say the least._

 _He didn't have time to dwell on it however, as he was manning an MG nest on the front within the following twenty-four hours, chattering away at the bodies flinging themselves toward him. It was brutal, it was loud, it was fast, and it encompassed him fully._

 _He immersed himself in the depths of war for four whole years._

 _And now?_

 _Now, he wasn't mowing down human beings like wheat with a scythe._

 _Now, he was back home, sipping coffee in a diner in the middle of the night._

 _Now, the sense of loss he felt was hitting him in full force._

 _And he found that the silence was deafening._

 _His eyes shifted up from his mug to gaze at the empty booth across from him, boring into the cracked, worn faux-leather that would shift and squeak whenever Albert would let out a full, hardy laugh._

 _He raised his drink to his lips, frowning, when only a small dribble of liquid was pulled into his mouth._

 _Damn…empty._

 _He looked behind him and raised his hand to Martha, who caught his eye with a smile and began to make her way over to him, a full pot in hand. He was suddenly aware of the fatigue that had built up behind his eyes as she came closer, and how heavy his body felt._

 _Still…. It was only 01:45…._

 _One more cup wouldn't hurt._

 _. . . . . ._

This was getting old, that's for sure.

Lincoln sighed, wiping a hand across his forehead, cool beads of sweat running down his wrist and off onto the damp sheets below. He frowned, tossing off the comforter to allow fresh air to dry himself. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, hands resting on his knees. He looked at his watch, squinting as he pressed the button to illuminate it.

04:45

Fuck.

This _really_ sucked

Lately, he couldn't manage to pull more than four, maybe five hours of sleep if he wanted too, and that was on a good night. It wasn't like he was exhausted though; sure he was tired, but he wasn't deprived.

He remembered a time where he could get eight, even ten hours of uninterrupted, blissful oblivion, waking up whenever _he_ felt ready.

Man,

What a time to be alive.

Nowadays, his body woke him up on its own, unceremoniously thrusting him back into the waking world at some ungodly hour in the early morning. ' _Get up asshole, you've slept enough.'_

"Well fuck you too then." Lincoln murmured into the dark, rubbing his eyes and standing up.

Rolling his shoulders back and inhaling deeply, a robust aroma filled his nostrils, causing him to recoil slightly. Using the back of his hand to cover his nose, his eyes were drawn to the pile of rancid, gore-covered clothes he had tossed into the far corner of his room the night before.

'God damn it.' He thought wearily, 'I really gotta start washing that shit before I pass out'. Lowering his hand, he moved over to his dresser, pulling out a fresh pair of jeans and deftly slipping into them. Zipping up the fly, he went one drawer lower, reaching in and snatching a folded, grey dry-fit shirt.

Nimbly guiding his arms through their respective sleeves, he pulled the garment over his head and let it fall down around his torso, conforming to his lithe body quite comfortably. Finally, he reached into the bottom drawer and fished out a pair of long, green socks, seating himself on the edge of his bed while tugging them on.

His daily outfit now complete, he rubbed his eyes once again, standing up and meandering over to the foul pile in the corner. He stooped down and gathered the disgusting clothes in his arms, moving to the door and gently bumping it open with his hip.

He quietly moved to the stairway, cautiously gliding down the steps, careful as to not wake the rest of the household. He paused at the bottom and gazed in to the living room, spying a lump of blankets and arms on the couch.

' _Filthy clothes first, body on the couch later.'_ His subconscious directed him, promoting him to move past the dining room and into the kitchen, where he ambled down the stairs to the basement. Throwing the rancid bundle into the washer, he dumped in a healthy amount of detergent before cranking the switch to 'Heavy Duty'.

Yeah, he definitely needed a better way to go about this.

Shuffling back up the stairs and back in to the kitchen, he did a double-take as his eyes passed over an almost full pot of coffee.

Well hello there.

Where the hell did _you_ come from _?_

Putting a pause on his journey back to his room, Lincoln slowly ambled over to the ancient machine, reaching out and grasping the glass container by its chipped, plastic handle. Lifting it to his nose, he inhaled sharply, taking in the deep, rich scent of dark roast.

Yep, freshly made; he could smell the stuff a mile away.

But, again, how did it even get here?

He vaguely recalled stumbling in to the house a few house ago; fatigue and adrenaline aftershock wracking his body and mind. In no part of his endeavor to throw himself into bed did he recollect making a fresh pot of liqu-

"Are you just gonna stare at it?" A voice cut sharply through his musings.

Lincolns head snapped to the dining room doorway, fist clenched and muscles tensing in anticipation. There, in the doorframe, stood Lori, her blonde hair frizzy and bedraggled.

He closed his eyes as he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relief quickly washing over his tense form.

"Jesus Christ Lori!" he breathed out, leaning against the counter, "Don't creep up on me like that!"

A small grin formed on the eldest Loud sibling's lips, eye's narrowing in jest.

"What's wrong? Did I actually manage to startle the eternally stoic Lincoln Loud?" she threw at him, smirking as she crossed her arms.

Lincoln let out a small snort, shooting her a half-smile. "What, have you been taking tips from Lucy? I've usually been able to hear long before I ever see you." He tossed back.

Lori rolled her eyes, moving over to the sink and grabbing an empty mug from the basin. Reaching over and grabbing the coffee pot, she poured herself a cup of the steaming, black liquid, and moved to the tiny kitchen table and took a seat.

Lincoln followed her lead, snatching a mug from the cabinet and transferred coffee into his cup. He moved to the doorway and paused, choosing instead to move over and pull out the chair across from Lori and gently sit down.

Lori raised an eyebrow at him, but simply returned her gaze back to her mug, eyes focused its rising wisps of steam.

A comfortable silence fell over the two as they sat, sipping their respective beverages. Lincoln pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his news feed, curious as to what was going on in the world.

Same old same old it seemed…. The Russian-American Coalition was holding a summit today… don't give a shit about that, fuck both of them…. The ecological reclamation of San Francisco was still ongoing… that was good… Group of men slaughtered in an apartment in Downtown Chica-

"I know you must think I'm heartless." Lori's voice cut through his musings, prompting him to look up from his screen. A small frown set on her face, eyes set on the table between them instead of meeting his gaze. Lincoln cast his look to the side, memories of the past several years of his relationship with his oldest sister leaving a hollow feeling in his gut.

"I'm not really sure what to make of you nowadays." He returned honestly. He couldn't recall when they had grown so estranged. If he had to choose, it was probably after their father had passed, but it didn't matter now; the chasm between them was vast and deep, filled with cold anger and unspoken feelings.

She nodded as if in agreement.

"I've failed a lot as sister, I won't deny it." Her words stroke a chord inside him, and he isn't sure what to feel. "But I'm the oldest, and it's my responsibility to take care of the family. Regardless of what you and the others think" A matter-of-fact look sets on her face, and as Lincoln meets her hardened gaze, he wonders who the fuck she thinks she is.

"It's time for a change." She continued. "You've done a great job over the past couple years, but I think it's time for me, Leni, and Luan to take control of the situation." She finished, taking a sip of her coffee.

'So this is your idea of 'fixing' things?" he mockingly questioned, causing her to freeze. "Showing up out of the blue and demand we submit to your wishes?" He leans back into his chair, unwaveringly meeting his sister's fiery stare. "Two years Lori, you haven't spoken to anybody in this house in two fucking years, and you and I haven't really spoken in three times as long! What did you expect? A welcome home hug and kiss?" He mocked, gripping his mug tighter.

"You know what I think? I think this whole thing," he animatedly gestures with his free hand, "is a gambit to prove to yourself that you're still top bitch." He says with a sneer, vitriol laced within his words. "Well guess what," he smirked, driving it home. "You gave up that position a long time ago."

Lori's frown turns into a full grimace, eyes narrowing in fury and face flush with anger.

"Oh, like you're doing such a stellar job at keeping a healthy household!" She nearly shouted, "Sneaking around and staying out late, refusing to tell anybody where you're going or what you're doing?" His stomach dropped. "Yeah, _totally_ providing a stable household for the girls."

"Listen to me you little fucking psycho," She began, voice rising even louder. "They're _my_ sisters! _MINE!"_ She jabbed her finger at him repeatedly. "You shouldn't even have a fucking _thought_ in that damaged head of yours about what they need, because I'm at least their _actual fucking sister!"_ She finished, finger prodding the table, emphasizing every last syllable.

Lincoln stared at her in silence, and disbelief.

Wow.

So she was gonna to play _that_ card, eh?

He slowly stood up, coffee in hand. A look of regret found itself on Lori's face as her words finally registered in her own mind, hand raised to her mouth. "Lincoln, wait," she began as he moved over to the sink.

"Thanks for the coffee." He cut her off, tossing his head back and finishing off the remnant of his drink. He placed the empty mug into the sink and began to walk out.

"I didn't mean-" she started, but it was too late; he was already past the dining room and she could hear him stride his way upstairs.

She let out a loud groan, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands.

Jesus _Christ_ what was wrong with her?

. . . . .

Hot water splashed across his body, leaving his muscles warm and relaxed.

One of the perks of waking up before everyone else was the promise of a boiling-hot shower.

And fuck, he sure needed it this morning.

He stood back, away from the stream of water and ran a washcloth along his arms and sides, rubbing the fresh, lavender-smelling soap into his skin. Once he was satisfied, he stepped forward, allowing the suds to be flushed off his body and down the drain.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the thick haze of steam that permeated the small space of the bathroom. He allowed himself to relax, reveling in the heat that encompassed his body.

What a shit-show this morning turned out to be.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of heat and tiny droplets of liquid beating and dribbling down his form, steadily breathing.

In

Out

In

Out

And he opened his eyes only to find himself in enveloped by water and flame.

The rain was torrential, battering him as it came down like waves on a shore. Almost as if in defiance, the fire that tore through the surrounding jungle burned bright and hot, refusing to be snuffed out as the rain continued its relentless assault. The heat was intense, scorching his skin and singeing his hair.

He heard shouting somewhere in front of him from his position against the large tree trunk, and felt the whizz of bullets graze past him. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils, and he saw some poor private to his left reaching out to him.

"Loud, please!" he begged, desperately grasping for him.

Lincoln could see through the smoke that his left arm had been blown away.

The kid kept calling his name, pleading for help, but Lincoln couldn't move.

He was paralyzed with fear.

He started to hyperventilate.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

They weren't supposed to be any resistance.

When the hell did they even land on Kauai?

He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath, taking deep, slow breaths.

In

Out

In

Out

The smell of burnt flesh and the concussive thumps of distant artillery fell away.

Gone was the smell of burning diesel and thick smoke.

In its place, the fresh smell of lavender and the gentle sound of draining water returned.

He found that he was sitting in the tub, arms clutched tightly across his chest.

He let out a shuddering breathe and rested his head on his forearms.

Lori was right.

He _was_ fucked up.

. . . . .

Lynn wasn't sure if it was possible to hate her older sister more than she did now.

But she imagined it wouldn't be very hard, knowing Lori.

How fucking _dare_ she bring that up?

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but upon her arrival back from her early morning jog, she heard voices through the kitchen window screen as she was walking up the back steps.

She sat under the window and listened to the entire thing.

And she was _furious._

After Lincoln calmly walked away, she watched as Lori sat with her head in her hands for close to half an hour, before sighing, duping her cold coffee in the sink, and headed upstairs herself.

Who the hell did she think she was?

It wasn't Lori who had kept food on the table.

It wasn't Lori who to put her sisters through school, and continued to do so.

It wasn't Lori who had held her while she sobbed over her ineligibility to continue her aspirations of becoming a world-renown athlete.

It wasn't Lori who had help her with her physical therapy, regardless of what else she had going on.

Lori hadn't really been a presence in her life, and now she called the one person who continued to give everything to his family an insane psychopath.

Way to go Lori, really building bridges out here.

Bitch.

She let out an exasperated sigh as she filed up her water bottle, moving to the living to watch a little of the morning news.

"I should do something nice for Lincoln.' she concluded in her mind as she entered the living room. However, her musings stopped once she spotted Lucy on the couch, sitting with her arms and legs crossed.

She looked _pissed._

"I'm assuming you heard Lincoln and Lori's conversation this morning?" She queried Lynn without looking at her.

A hard frown formed on Lynn's face.

"You too huh?" She returned.

Lucy only nodded, before sliding over to make room for Lynn.

She grabbed the remote and flipped on the televisions, pressing the sequence of numbers. for the news station.

"Today marks the annual Russian-American Coalition conference in Munich today…" The news anchor rattled on, filling the silence. Lynn began to speak up before Lucy cut her off.

"We need to talk about Lori." She spoke with a soft finality, prompting Lynn to nod her head in agreement.

"We can't let Lincoln do this by himself." She returned.

Both sisters turned their attention back to the television, a quiet understanding passing between the two.

"In other news…" the news anchor rattled on. "Carnage in downtown Chicago today as the bodies of six men were found brutally murdered within an apartment…"

. . . . .

 **A/N: I've decided to place a limit of at least 3000 words per chapter, as I believe it helps clear up the narrative, as well as prevent writers block. I thrive on your all's feedback, and I smile every time I get a review. Let me know what you like, dislike, and how I can improve! Hopefully it wasn't too bad considering the wait.**

 **Kudos**


End file.
